Doranelle
by ninazenik
Summary: [MODERN DAY THRONE OF GLASS AU] Dorian and his brother Roland take an unprecedented trip overseas to a glorious city in Wendlyn- Doranelle. They plan to leave for a few days and come back to Adarlan immediately, but all those hopes quickly vanish as the leisure trip turns into a thick plot.
1. Chapter 1

Doranelle. The beautiful coastline city, with its silvery skyscrapers stretching upwards, all together looking like arms reaching for the stars. It was a particularly cloudy day, with a gentle mist sweeping around the city, giving it a mysterious aspect. There was a gentle fall breeze, as could be expected at this time of year.

Dorian inhaled deeply, and closed his eyes, breathing in the fresh air. It smelled of sharp city air and the slightest tinge of salt water, due to the raging oceans that slapped the bluff beaches just miles away. This was where he belonged, in a brisk, busy city, not cooped up in some mansion in the suburbs of Rifthold, the capital of Adarlan, where he lived. His older brother Roland came up behind him, slapping him on the shoulder. "My, my, brother, you've surely gotten into the spirit." He chuckled, in a low, well-articulated voice. "Christ was it hard to haul your ass all the way across the ocean from home." Dorian jumped out of his fog. "Shut up," Dorian retorted, rather quiet for his liking. Dorian clutched his brown leather jacket tighter around his torso as a sharp gust of wind cut through the serene air. "Beautiful, isn't it?" Roland sighed. "Yeah, I guess." Dorian shrugged, not wanting to admit his wonder. "Wendlyn, ah the good old. Came here with my friends after I graduated high school." Roland said. "Pity mam said you couldn't go. Good thing I'm around. You wouldn't be anywhere without me." Roland chuckled again. Suddenly aware of the temperature, and the humid air creeping into his bones, Dorian clutched his leather jacket tighter around him.

"I'm freezing," Dorian shuddered. "It's getting a bit late," Roland agreed, checking his watch. "It's only seven thirty. Let's go back to the hotel and have dinner. I'm starving."

As the Havilliard boys began the trek across the city taking a series of subways and buses and streetcars, a beautiful young woman with silver hair and the palest skin, and stunning turquoise eyes rimmed with a vibrant gold, sprang around town. She wore all black, her hair braided back. She had a cunning look in her eyes as she entered a small apartment, opening the door only part way before slithering through. Branded in gold letters on the door was the letters _AK_ in an elegant font. She came up and peered through the window at the two young men crossing the road. A sly smile came upon her face for half a second before a deep voice called her away.

As Dorian crossed the busy road, he couldn't help the feeling of being watched. He spun around, and in one of the thin houses, he could've sworn he saw a curtain sweeping, like someone had been looking out the window then changed their mind. He pushed it away. _Normal people look through windows. Normal people have curtains. It_ is _a city._

But haunting him all the way to the hotel was the small sensation, tickling the back of his mind telling him that behind that curtain was someone lethal. Someone who wasn't all smiles. Someone dangerous.


	2. Chapter 2

"May I help you, sir?" the young lady behind the front desk at the hotel says. She was rather beautiful, her skin was a rich brown and her dark wavy hair fell in loose waves from her shoulders. She had a strange accent. It sounded a bit… Eyllwe. She wore a pale blue blouse which complemented her strangely bright blue eyes. Over top of that was the standard navy vest that all the hotel employees wore. Her name tag said _Nehemia_. Definitely Eyllwe.

Dorian found himself fumbling for words. He knew what he was going to say –generally– but the girl had stunned him. She was beautiful and strange, and looked both wise and youthful.

"I… uh… On my way here, um, I saw this house, this house that had an _AK_ on the front door in fancy lettering. I was, er, wondering what that, um… stood for?" he stuttered.

She flashed him a warm smile. "Pardon, what were the letters?" she said.

" _AK_ ,"

Her face went from serene to stern to terrifying. Not terrified. Terrifying. Her eyebrows furrowed, and her gaze darkened as she stood up, pushing her chair backwards with her legs. She leaned forward with her hands placed firmly on her desk.

"Listen, pretty boy," she said sternly. Dorian would have laughed. "Promise me you will _never_ go back to that house. That's…" she lowered her voice drastically. "Assassin's Keep." She whispered.

She plopped back into her chair and smiled as if nothing had happened.

"But uh… do you know who lives there?"

Nehemia gave him a millisecond stern glance before handing him a pamphlet. "Here you'll find all the information you need to make your stay at the Three Sisters Hotel more enjoyable." She smiled, and then looked back down to her paperwork.

The pamphlet was titled _Doranelle Night Life._ He snorted, but opened it up anyways. What he saw shocked him.

In bright red marker, written in a fast handwriting, was _**DON'T GO BACK –N**_. He took the hint, but stole a glance at the woman again. She met his eyes and smiled, before picking up a phone call.

Later that evening, Dorian was lying in his hotel room, waiting for Roland to come back with dinner. He reached for the TV controls but his cell phone ringing stopped him. He prayed it wasn't his parents. They were taking care of some business in Meah for the next two weeks. His mother was the president of Adarlan, the first female in centuries.

If they found out he was in Wendlyn…

He pulled it out of his pocket and on the screen was the name Chaol Westfall.

"About time, too," Dorian muttered. Chaol had been his best friend since they were children. Dorian pressed the green button on the screen.

"Dorian! Where've you _been_?" Chaol's worried voice cut through the white noise.

"I'm in Doranelle, I told you rem—" Dorian snapped his mouth shut remembering how he'd forgotten to tell Chaol.

" _Doranelle_?" Chaol shrieked. "As in, Wendlyn's most beautiful city?" he said in disbelief. "Oh my God, I was supposed to go with you! Your own _mother_ , the _president_ said you couldn't! You could be _arrested_ , Dorian!"

"They're my parents, calm down! They can't arrest me! They love me!" Dorian said, but deep down he knew he was even lying to himself.

"Yeah, your parents, who love you _so_ much, they don't even care who you love, they only want you to marry Kaltain, that billionaire's daughter just to make them some quick cash and reliable in-laws. Get your ass on the first flight back!" Chaol said. Dorian knew he only cared about his safety, but a stupid, _stupid_ voice in his head told him Chaol was just jealous. But then, Chaol hadn't gone because Dorian didn't have permission. He suddenly felt an overwhelming pang of guilt.

"Okay, you're right. I'm so sorry, Chaol. I'll check the times for the next flight–" Dorian was interrupted.

"Next flight _where_?" the stern voice of his brother demanded.

" _Shit,_ " Dorian muttered. "Adarlan. Like it or not." He worked up a strange courage and thrust it in Roland's face. The older boy was taken aback. He kicked the door closed and put the pizza box on the nearest surface.

"Listen here, _brother_ ," Roland spat, his hulking figure stalking slowly across the room with predatory ease. "Why are you going to Adarlan?" he growled. Dorian was surprised, why was his brother acting so strange about going home?

"Chaol's worried sick, I feel so bad, we should've told him, should've invited him." Dorian said, his sudden flare of courage vanishing into smoke that made him stutter and stop.

Roland plopped onto the other bed, burying his face in his hands.

"Sorry, Dorian," he said, looking up at the younger boy. Dorian saw there was still a flare in their forest green irises. "The guy at the pizza place was acting up… But please don't go back. I wanted to spend some time with you here. Doranelle, it's such a great place. You can't leave after just hours of exploring!" Roland convinced his brother.

"Fine," Dorian said. He realized Chaol was still on the phone.

"Um… so you're staying?" His friend's puzzled voice inquired.

"Yeah. You can catch the next flight if you want." Chaol seemed to brighten with that.

"Alright. What hotel are you guys at?" And after a few minutes of detail sharing, Chaol and Dorian hung up.

"So, is your friend coming to pay us a visit?" Roland sneered.

"Yeah," Dorian said.

"Just kidding. He won't." Roland said with an evil grin.

 **A/N: Hey guys! Wow, I posted the first chapter just hours ago and I already have** _ **2**_ **reviews, oh my god! You guys are the best omg. Well, this is chapter 2, enjoy! Check out my tumblr:**

 **Current status: planning chapter 3.**


	3. Chapter 3

The pale girl crept through the streets of Doranelle. She looked up at the moon, a feisty look coming across her peculiar eyes.

Ashryver Eyes, they had once called them. Eyes that were the treasure of a powerful Fae bloodline from centuries and centuries ago. Whoever bore them made them heir to the Ashryver fortune. Currently, those were two people. The girl and her cousin. The cousin's eyes were darker, the gold less defined against the turquoise. More smudgy and fuzzed. He was still a descendant. The girl's, however, had a shining gold that stood out against the piercing blue, and at night one could swear they glowed.

This was why she wore contact lenses. Plain brown contacts for midnight outings as such.

She was dressed all in black, the leather standing out against her impressively pale skin. Her hair was pulled back into a tight braid one again. She padded through the main streets, quiet as a ghost. She could hear the loud bass from the music playing at full volume in the clubs that lined the streets, could hear the shouts and hollers of the youth inside them. A lot of them were her age. She was only eighteen but with her maturity and stealth, she could pass for at least twenty, considering she wasn't even that tall.

She jogged noiselessly down the street, savoring the feeling of the night wind beating against her face.

This was why she didn't commit. Why she moved from Keep to Keep. Assassin's Keep was a nation-wide organization, with starting roots in what was once the great country of Terrassen and one in Adarlan. They were regular houses, or shacks, or abandoned lands with makeshift cabins. They were all different. Except the logo. The elegant and golden _AK_ on every onyx black door. She'd been to the one in Varese, the capital of Wendlyn. She'd left just days after, the sweltering heat and taste of _teggya_ and eating nothing but the typical flatbread and wine made her sick.

There'd even been one in Mistward, the fortress just south of Doranelle. In one of the rooms, deep down in the corners, only to be found if you knew, or if you're an _extremely_ devoted explorer. The room led to chambers upon chambers, dormitories for up to twenty members of the guild.

As she padded stealthily down the street, she looked up at the stars again and spotted the Stag quickly, the brightest star on its horns were told in myths to point the way to Terrasen. That's the stuff of legends. But there were one or two Keep safe-houses in Terrasen… maybe she should pay her homeland a visit. But not tonight. Tonight, she couldn't afford to dream of places too far out of her delicate hands.

She turned down the rendezvous lane, and as she approached the dead end brick wall, she saw him, perfectly camouflaged despite his big figure.

"This is Falcon." She said, standing a few yards away from the man, using the code name the Assassin's Guild had assigned her when she first became a member. "Are you Sparrow?" She'd been instructed to meet Sparrow on this lane. She didn't know anything about him. To her, he was just another assassin. And probably she the same to him.

"This is Sparrow." He said in a low, soft voice. It contrasted perfectly with her medium pitched, clear and strong one.

"Rendezvous number?" She asked, reciting from the flash cards she'd used on her first rendezvous, which was years ago.

"Seven-oh-three." He said, the syllables seemed to glide out of his mouth like skates on ice. After the number, she dared approach closer. He could be trusted. He was of the Guild.

"Whats your name?" He asked suddenly.

"You're to call me Falcon," she responded, surprised.

"You know I won't." he said, a slight chuckle to his voice.

She sighed in defeat. "Aelin Sardothien, rank ten." The ranks for the Guild were given out of thirteen.

"Rowan Whitethorn," he told her. "Rank twelve." He smirked. Even though it was dark, Aelin could hear it in his voice.

She hated meeting fellow Guild members higher ranked than her. It made her feel vulnerable, like they'd command her to kill herself right there and then. They had perfect authority to, and she couldn't deny without the Guild charging her for disobeying –which could end in execution. Aelin still hadn't decided which was best, to be forced to suicide by some jackass or die a humiliating death at execution by the Guild.

She hoped the day would never come when that decision would have to be made.

"We have to discuss the Havilliard arrival in Doranelle." She said, cutting back to business.

"Yes, I was told you had information." Rowan said.

"I do," Aelin declared. "We were told there was just one coming, Dorian Havilliard, with his… _friend_ Chaol Westfall. But earlier today I saw Dorian yes, but it wasn't Chaol with him." She lowered her volume for an effect of drama. Oh, how she _loved_ this! "He's with _Roland_." She hissed. "As in Havilliard, the brother."

Rowan grunted in annoyance. "That bastard again? We had enough of his trouble-making three years ago."

"What happened three years ago?" Aelin asked. Rowan cocked his head.

"You don't know, and you're rank ten?" He snorted.

"I'm… a traveler." She felt heat rush to her cheeks, and was thankful for the cover of night to hide it. "Three years ago at this time… I'd say I was at the Keep in the cabins in the forest just west of here. Halopath, I believe it's called?"

"Arobynn must really like you for you to be able to jump from Keeps and your rank remains the same." Rowan said.

"Arobynn and I go way back," Aelin smirked. "Anyways, three years ago–" she began.

"Ah right. You're going to like this story if you're the kind of person I think you are." Rowan stated. He cleared his throat.

"Roland Havilliard came here on his graduation trip with some friends three years ago. They stayed at the Three Sisters Hotel. I don't know where he and his brother are staying today. In the middle of the night, Roland knocked his two friends unconscious and snuck out to the Keep a few blocks down, Harksword." Rowan stopped when he saw Aelin's eyes widen at the mention of Harksword.

"That's the Keep I'm staying in, right now." She said slowly.

"Danger may come to Harksword's Guardian. Now let me finish." Aelin nodded, and Rowan went on. "He crept in; no one knows how he got past the two sentries. He took all the weapons, every dagger, every sword, knife, arrow, anything sharp. He then jammed all the long swords through every door, so the sharp end was pointing into the room. A groggy person waking up in the morning could not see the blade and get stabbed.

"He took all the daggers and hunting knives and crawled under the Guardian's bed and pushed them all blade-up through the mattress, perfectly outlining his sleeping body. If he so much as shifted, he'd prick himself. He'd wake up, and by moving would later sever other body parts. The boy was genius. And then with the arrows he went and killed the three best, highest ranking Guild members other than the Guardian. And with the last knife he had left, he carved his name on the wall. He left the maces at the bottom of every staircase." Rowan concluded. "Only the Guardian, the three assassins and two idiots who stepped on maces died from his prank. The sentries went missing the next morning. This guy killed six highly trained assassins. Finner Keep, my Keep, is starting to suspect the man's descendant of the Fae. Stealthy, eerie quiet but fast, perfect aim with a strange ease." Rowan explained.

The words did a ricochet inside of Aelin's head. _Stealthy, quiet, fast, aim, ease._ They described her perfectly. She was _not_ the stuff of legends. Aelin was real, and human. Fully. She assured herself.

Then her mind darted to Harksword, and how nice and welcoming everyone was there. Nice and welcoming on assassin standards. The Havilliard boy, he would come again. He'd kill again. And a nagging voice in the pale girl's head told her that he wouldn't just carve onto some drywall, or break down some doors and cause accidental deaths. This time, it would be on purpose. The thoughts spilled out of her lips in a smooth string of six words.

"We need to get to Harksword."

 **Hi everyone! Hope you enjoyed chapter 3! I'm really excited about these AUs, I'm sure I'll be doing more in the future. If you want to request a prompt for a fanfic, feel free to go on my tumblr [terrasenh] and send me an ask with the prompt, and ship (if any) and any other details.**

 **Once again, this community is so supportive! Thank you all so much! Also, on an unrelated note, would you be interested if I wrote a story that was kind of like Gossip Girl (the show) except with different problems & characters? It wouldn't be a cheap rip off, I hate those. If you would like to see that leave it in your review! THANK YOU**

 **lots of love,**

 **-reya**


	4. Chapter 4

Aelin gave Rowan a sidelong, warning glance.

 _We have to get to Harksword_ , the glance said.

 _Are you out of your mind? The psycho will kill us!_ Rowan responded in the look language.

 _I don't care._ Aelin hardened her features. _You work for the Guild anyways. This should be everyday to you,_ Rank Twelve, _Rowan._

 _Whatever. If I die, it's your fault._

Aelin shot him an icy glare but Rowan kept his ground. She rolled her eyes and broke into a sprint. She ran down the main street, the booming bass of the music inside the clubs pounding in her heart. She had friends there at Harksword. _More_ than friends. She smiled slightly at the thought of Sam Cortland, the boy who was currently infatuated with her, and she with him.

She jumped at the sound of huffing behind her, and realized it was Rowan, who wasn't doing so well keeping up.

"Not used to running, Rank Twelve?" Aelin sneered.

"Oh, I'll show you running." Rowan snorted, panting all the while. "Turn back around." He ordered, and since he was twelve and she ten, she obeyed. There was a sound of someone clearing their throat, and Rowan appeared beside her, running at her pace perfectly.

There was a strange sheen to his figure, Aelin realized. "When'd you get so shiny?" she puffed.

He ignored her with a pointed look. It wasn't a voiced order, not yet anyways, so she could keep prodding.

"You're not exactly the glowing type," She said. She curved her feet as she rounded the corner off the main street and into one of the smaller dirt roads. She twisted around the curvy path, her feet guiding the way. There was a much easier way to get to Harksword, except it was longer, and she wanted to test Rowan.

"Trust me, I'm much more than you think," he declared, not missing a breath.

She poked him in the side. "No but really, super-speed? What are you, Fae?" She snorted jokingly, mentioning the popular Wendlynite legend.

He shifted away from her.

"You're joking." She said. He just stared.

"You're not… really…. Right? This is just some joke." She said, mostly to herself.

"Watch out, Sardothien." Rowan spat as she almost ran into a wall. She moved up, and brushed herself off quickly. She ran again.

"A few more blocks." She said, and he grunted.

They were halfway down the second to last block when they heard feet pounding behind them.

Dorian ran. As soon as Roland pulled out the knife and held it like a psychopath, he jumped to the door and burst down the hall. The elevator took a while, and when it finally came, Roland was a few yards in front of the doors. They slid open and Dorian sprang in, jamming the Door Close button as Roland made a wild leap towards the doors. His nose and fingers got caught in the door, and as they shut, a bloodcurdling crunch was heard from them, and Roland slid the extremities out as the elevator began its descent.

When he reached the ground floor, he saw Nehemia leaving the lobby with a black purse, wearing a jean jacket over top of her clothes from earlier that day. He ran towards the doors, and she jumped back surprised, and got into the section of the revolving doors behind him. When they got out, she grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?" She hissed. "First you come up to me with a question about fricking _Assassin's Keep_ and then you burst out of the elevators like there's a madman chasing you!" she scoffs.

"Because there is," Was Dorian's only reply. And as if on cue, Roland burst out of the elevators and into the empty lobby, still brandishing the knife as if it was his only hope of life. And Dorian deeply wished it wasn't.

"Run," he hissed at Nehemia, and pulled her wrist. He broke into a run, and she stumbled after him. He ran through streets at random, until she wrenched herself from his grip and ran alongside him.

"Who is he?" Nehemia asked, slightly out of breath.

"Cousin. Tried to dissect me in the room. Or something," Dorian wheezed.

"Harsh," Nehemia grunted.

Then they saw the two people, a man and a woman, running ahead in front of them. The man was strong-built and tall, with a mass of silver-white hair atop his head. Dorian saw, on the back of his neck, a splotch of ink, but it wasn't a splotch. It was a carefully inked, black as hell, tattoo. The girl had long silver hair, braided back in a tight plait that glimmered in the moonlight. She was slim, but well-muscled.

Then they stopped short, and whirled around at lightning speed.

"Who the _hell_ are you?" The man hissed. Gods, he was huge. Dorian saw that the tattoo curled up his collarbones and up his neck, almost reaching his jaw. He looked both young and inhumanly old. His features were chiseled and strong, prominent. He looked like he could be the prince of his own country. Little did Dorian know.

The woman, on the other hand… She seemed to be more of a girl, around his age, not more. Her skin was pale, her lips were a soft neutral peach, and her features were softer, smoother, and melded together, uniting her face in a mark of beauty. And, _oh gods_ , her eyes… Being the brightest thing on her that instant, they stood out like two emeralds in a sea of stones. They were a brilliant turquoise, with gold as pure as any crown rimming the irises. She was impossibly beautiful, with the eyes to match.

Something sparked in the back of his minds. The _legends._ The legends of the Ashryver Eyes, the eyes that all the rulers of the great country of Terrasen bore. Terrasen had long since fallen, at war with Adarlan for several years. This was several centuries back, but the queen… No one knew if she or her daughter escaped… Maybe they did, and the daughter had children, who had children, who bore the eyes? Maybe she was a descendant… Or maybe it was all bedtime stories.

"I said, who are you?" The man repeated, slowly, lethally. His voice was little more than a low growl but it was enough to send a weak man running.

"We have somewhere to be, pretty boy. It's urgent. Involves a Havilliard, you know the ass?" The girl chirped, her voice melodic and soft, but had deadly edge.

"I'm–I'm a Havilliard and–" Dorian began, but the man grabbed him by the waist and slung him onto his back.

"Get the girl too, Aelin." The man said, and the girl –Aelin– grabbed her by the forearm, clasping them together in an unbreakable grip.

"We can't be sure it's _him_ ," The girl whispered to the man as they sprinted through the streets. "He doesn't look psychotic enough. We need to keep going to Harksword, could be his brother. If he did murder the assassins all those years ago, I don't think he'd be pounding through the streets at such volume, especially not with his girlfriend."

"She's not my–" Dorian began, but the man squeezed his waist, hard, on the pressure point there.

"Zip it, pretty boy. No one needs to hear your relationship struggles." Aelin said, raising her voice, and then continued in a whisper.

" _Harksword, now._ " She said harshly.

The man sighed, and turned a corner at a T shaped intersection.

"Rank Ten, commanding a Twelve. Who did you _ever_ think you were, Aelin Sardothien?" The man chuckled, as they stopped in front of the house with the golden _AK_ on the door.

 **A/N: YES I KNOW. AELIN SARDOTHIEN. I had to alter it a bit, because she knows she's Aelin, not Celaena, but she's in Wendlyn, so if people find out she's a Galathynius, they'll know- Ashryvers married into Galathyniuses and ruled Terrasen. Terrasen fell, some survived.**


	5. Chapter 5

Aelin let out a quick laugh, a melodic sound that ricocheted off the house facades. Rowan sighed, and pulled out some rope from his pocket. He dragged the Havilliard boy and the girl to a flimsy wood door that lead to an alleyway. He unlocked the door and tossed them in, then tied them to some plumbing tubes sticking out of the wall.

Rowan stepped out of the door and slammed it shut, the lock buckling.

Aelin was waiting at the door. She seemed nervous.

When he got near, she smiled, huffed, and pushed a key into the Harksword lock. She turned it and the door gave way as she shoved in with her shoulder. Rowan stepped in after her, closing the door.

"No lights," she hissed as he reached for the switch.

They stood for a moment, letting their eyes adjust.

"Keller and Jayce were supposed to stand guard tonight." Aelin whispered. "They should be sitting over there…" she pointed to two empty chairs, which she could not tell were empty.

"Oh my _gods,_ " Aelin gasped. "He's here. He's in. We need to wake everyone up…" she said, and opened her mouth to start screaming, but Rowan clamped a hand over it.

"Shh. Don't yell, this needs to be discreet. If he finds out we're here to save the day he'll just kill everyone." She nodded, and he dropped his hand.

She may be a traveler, but Harksword had been her favorite Keep for a long time. She kept coming back and staying for a few days or weeks whenever she was in the vicinity. She was close friends with the Guardian, Finnegan Creel, but the real reason she loved it so much was Sam. Sam Cortland, the beautiful and intriguing assassin from Adarlan. They'd been together for months before, and he'd occasionally travel around with her. He was in the house that very moment, probably sleeping or waiting for her to return from the rendezvous.

Just thinking of Sam brought a small smile that tugged at the corners of her lips.

She motioned to Rowan, now she was in charge. She was the Harksword representative in the rendezvous, ranks don't matter once the other rendezvous member is in the Keep of the other.

They began creeping silently up the stairs. Aelin knew the staircase and their loose floorboards like the back of her hand. Rowan just had to step where she did. He got the memo, at least.

Once they reached the top, the pair flattened themselves against the wall, listening for any sign of the insane Havilliard. Maybe it had been the boy Rowan had tied outside, and that's why he wasn't there.

But the somewhat-serene though was cut short by a soft clang of metal against metal. Daggers against daggers. She could tell he heard it too, since his muscles tensed up next to her. She nodded at him, and they crept down the narrow hallway to where the sound came from, the weapons room at the end of the hall.

"Are you sure?" Rowan whispered, almost inaudibly. "It could be some other assassin getting ready to go out…"

"In the middle of the night? With weapons? No, and if there _was_ another rendezvous right now, I would know." Aelin replied.

"What if they're going out to _save you_? People don't exactly trust Finner; we're known to be the most unpredictable and lethal Keep." Rowan whispered, in a somewhat boasting tone.

"Ah yes, because I have never spent a few days there to know they are probably the _nicest, warmest, fluffiest_ Keep that bakes pumpkin pies in its free time to give to other assassin's at rendezvous. Did I mention, they cut the pies with swords?" Aelin snorted.

Rowan's paleness faded, replaced with a light shade of pink. "W-well…" he stammered.

Just then, there was a footstep heard from inside the room they stood in front of.

They shut up and melted to the wall on either side of the door as the knob turned, slowly and impossibly quiet.

Miliseconds before the door opened, Rowan made a sign to Aelin. She nodded, and then the door slid open, almost crushing Rowan.

Then he slid out of his hiding spot as the figure emerged out of the door. And like clockwork, Rowan and Aelin stuck out their longswords, Rowan pressing his thicker and stronger one against the man's chest, and Aelin's against his back, locking him.

 **A/N: SURPRISE SURPRISE! SAMAELIN! I sobbed my eyes out while writing chapter six though. Bring the tissues when I publish it.**

 **As usual, leave a review if you enjoyed the chapter or if you have any suggestions, feedback, all very appreciated! Sorry if this one is a bit short.. The next (and last) will be pretty long, so stay tuned.**

 **Thanks soso much for reading!**

 **Also, I know if you check on my reviews tab you'll see one from myself. THAT was my friend, when she came over she stole the computer while I was doing something else, read my first chapter and reviewed. Also the one before it with a bunch of random letters was her experimenting with the reviews. Thanks, friend.**

 **Check out my tumblr: .com (paste into browser)**

 **Again, thanks so much for reading!**

 **-Reya**


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